


The Bold Obsession

by xXmidnightmuseXx



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical, Human Names, M/M, Murder Mystery, Romance, UK family, Violence, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:46:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXmidnightmuseXx/pseuds/xXmidnightmuseXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a tour at sea ends abruptly, Arthur Kirkland finds himself thrown back into the aristocratic life he had been running from his whole life. But when his return marks the beginning of a string of murders, Arthur finds himself racing to untangle the web strangling his family and catch the killer before the final hour is up. Will he be able to save them, or fall prey as well?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Chapter One:**

 

" _Upon one summer's morning I carelessly did stray, down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay conversing with a young lass who seem'd to be in pain, saying; 'William, when you go, I fear you will ne'er return again."_

Looking up over his glasses, Matthew attempted to steal a glance to the singing man beside him. However, as the docks shoved and shouted all around the young sailor, it prevented him from getting a good look. The entire conundrum was, frankly, a cluster of noise that Mathew could care less for. All the shouting and cursing men pushing against him, reeking of salt and booze accompanied by the screeching gulls above, why, it was driving him mad!

He frowned, imagining the collection of bruises and bumps he would walk away with after the adventure to the port city.

A particularly ill-placed elbow had the young man gasping in surprise as he found himself lurching towards the edge of the rotting docks. A pair of hands latched onto the back of his shirt and yanked him back from a cold swim in the sea. Mathew landed harshly, his bag rolling away as the lad took a spill to the docks. As a shadow fell over him, he rushed to right his glasses and timidly looked up with a premature wince.

"You alright there, Lad?" Green eyes caught Mathew's attention first. As Mathew remained speechless, his ragtag hero smiled and offered a hand. "First tour?"

"Y-yes, sir." Mathew managed to stutter out. Graciously accepting the assistance, Mathew hauled himself up. A faint blush crept over his cheeks as he stumbled forward, the stranger laughing at the sight. He spared the other a glance, peeking at him from the corner of his eyes as he dusted off his breeches. The stranger was short to be mingling among the crowd of sailors, swallowed up by a wool coat and hat. However, Mathew felt reassured by the stranger's calculating eyes. Something told him this man could hold his own better than five of the surrounding burly men shoving about.

The man nodded at Mathew's response. He turned to glance over his shoulder at the city, lips drawing tight together. "Where are you headed? It'd be too cruel to let such a green sailor wander around these docks unaware and alone. You'll end up dead!" Mathew cringed at the harsh, barking laugh that came next.

"Ju-just outside of the city, sir. I'm supposed to be staying with my brother until I'm called out to sea again." Keeping his eyes on the man, Mathew went to retrieve his abandoned bag. He shied away from a snarl directed at him when he stepped to close into the traffic, and came back to extend a shaking hand to the chuckling stranger. "Ah, I'm...Mathew Williams, sir."

"Arthur. A pleasure." The light shift as Arthur went to shake Mathew's hand drew the young sailor's gaze to the black and silver cane supporting the other. "Come on then," Arthur said as he turned back to the crowd. "I'll see you get to a decent part of the city to find a ride home. Half the men here'll rob you blind and fuck your sister before you know which way's up. It's only right to show some mercy to the fresh blood of the sea. I'll bet you were a Londoner when you joined, weren't ya?"

"New Englander, sir."

Mathew jumped as Arthur suddenly stopped. The shorter of the pair spun on his heel, giving Mathew a once-over with an eyebrow arched high. "Really now? Had you pegged completely wrong, didn't I. Huh, quite a ways away from home, aren't ya?" Arthur shrugged and began leading Mathew out of the docks again. Mathew weakly bit his lip as he rushed to keep up with the surprisingly fast man; a hand fastened to his duffle's strap as he keep his eyes trained on the planks beneath him.

" _His hair it does in ringlets hang, his eyes as black soles. May happiness attend him wherever he goes,_ " Mathew glanced up, smiling a bit despite himself. Arthur had picked right back up on his song when they apparently grew too quiet for his liking. The Englishman was a tad off key and a far too loud, but Mathew couldn't find grounds for complaint. He had been subjected to his brother's voice since the day he was born, and it was a rare day on earth when Alfred F. Jones could hold a decent tune let alone sing it quietly.

" _From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I will wander, weep and moan. All for my jolly sailor bold, until he does return_."

The pair found themselves free from the arms of the pier and seated in the bosom a pub minutes into the city. To celebrate a tour completed until a carriage could be found to take him, Arthur had said. That was, of course, before the shorter man had vaguely waved Mathew off to find a seat as he sought out the bar. Now Mathew sat alone, watching with a gaping mouth as Arthur stood toe-to-toe in a shouting match with a fellow pub rat. The argument had seemed to bloom out of nowhere; Mathew blinked and suddenly it was a shouting match between the sailors. Cringing, Mathew scrunched up an eye as he watched Arthur's well-placed fist knocked the other aggressor off his stool. He mouthed a silent "ow" as Arthur jabbed at the other with his cane, shouting insults before collecting the two pints on the counter and limping off to Mathew.

Slamming the glass onto the table, Arthur scoffed. "Drink up. I doubt they had anything good on that ship of yours."

Mathew shook his head in response, looking down at the frothy beverage in his possession. Wrapping his fingers around it, he took a swig with a cringe and weak gag following.

"I never said this was good either," Arthur chuckled as Mathew attempted to drown the taste with more.

"I-I guess not." Shuddering, Mathew pulled back from the pint with a sour expression. He glanced up, he nearly jumping out of his skin when he found Arthur staring at him over the rim of his own glass. Venomous green eyes flashed for a moment before Arthur leaned back with an equally leery smile.

"So, a New Englander? Forgive my rashness, but your accent is falling short of my expectations." Sighing softly, Arthur leaned forward and stared at the squirming man before him.

Mathew rubbed his glass between his hands, looking this way and that to avoid the other's feline expression. "Th...that's because my mother was from Ontario, sir. I'm afraid I picked up her accent before we moved down to the New England regi-"

"Holy shit!"

Jumping at the interruption, Mathew looked up in a panic. Across the table, Arthur let out a low groan. The lithe man's head suddenly hung, hat falling onto the table as he combed fingers through his unruly mop of hair.

"Arthur? ….Arthur! It _is_ you, you fucking bastard!"

"Never drink where you propagate, lad," Arthur whispered to him. Mathew had to cover his mouth and look away from Arthur's forming smile. He instead found his attention being drawn to the loud woman making her way over to. She came to lean against the slouching sailor with a wide grin on her face, wrapping her arms around the muttering man.

"So the mighty Kirkland's come to port again, aye? What did it take this time to get your arse back to land this time?" Arthur turned to glare at his assaulter. In response, the woman flashed him a million-watt smile, sky blue eyes crinkling up around the edges beneath the wisps of her blonde bangs. "Yes sir, we heard all about your adventures out on the seas but never about yer return trips home, Love! Always the brave and daring commander Kirkland armed by steal and gun! Heard last time ya took a pirate down with his own sword, we did! Stabbed him _right_ between the eyes!"

"Amelia!" Barking, Arthur finally managed to shove the other off him. He gave the woman a sharp glare, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in his coat. "Really now, lass. Show some decorum!"

Amelia rolled her eyes away while fixing certain parts of her womanly figure back into configuration with her corset. Planting her hand firmly on her waist, she shot the Englishman a look. "Arttie, Love. I work at this muck-ridden place in a port town. I doubt I or any of my patrons know the meaning of _decorn'em_."

Arthur's face contorted in preparation of yet another shout when suddenly a chair crashing to the chair brought his attention back to Mathew. Mathew had somehow made it from seat to feet in a matter of seconds, his mouth hanging open at the hinges. Slowly, Arthur raised an eyebrow and blinked. "…yes, lad?"

"Yo…you're… you're…" Fighting with his tongue, Mathew flailed lightly. "A Kirkland! That…That means you… Good Lord!  _Everyone_ knows about the Kirklands and I'm...here...my god..."

"Aw, Arttie, I think you broke the wee lamb." Giggling, Amelia stretched out across the table to pat the startled youth's cheek. "That's right, Lovey. Grand ol' Sir Kirkland has come down from his mighty Commander chair to join you and I land-loving bitches and bastards."

Slowly, Mathew reached behind him.  He shook as he righted his chair and sat down numbly, constantly staring at Arthur and Amelia. "C-Commander Kirkland. As in _the_ Commander Arthur Kirkland of _the_ Kirkland family… as in her _Majesty's_ Kirkland family..."

The naval man clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. "Really now, it's not _that_ grand a title." His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze drifted back to the frozen man. "Do remember to breathe a little, Williams. You've sailed a fair deal of time, officers are no more important than the men working under them; why should the nobility be any different?"

"Won't stop your whining till yer _Captain_ Kirkland, will yah?" Amelia took the liberty of pinching Arthur's cheek, quickly being rewarded with a string of colorful curses before she swished her hips away.

"Bloody harpy," Arthur snarled out as he watched her leave. Turning back to see Mathew still staring at him and Arthur sighed and rubbed his temples. "Lad, close it or the slime here'll mistake you for a spit pot." He gave a dry chuckle as the other closed his mouth abruptly; looking about nervously as if the others would really do such a thing. "…you're too polished to be from the normal stock of sailors, what on earth possessed you to join their rowdy band?"

Mathew looked down at his warped reflection of his flattening beer with a weak shrug. "Our father passed shortly after he brought my brother and I to England. To keep us from the work house he had us separated; me to the navy as a ship boy under one of Father's colleagues and my brother off north. To Scotland, sir."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Clearing his throat, Arthur adverted his gaze. "Indulge me, what was your brother's name? I don't believe I caught it the first time."

Blinking, Mathew dragged his eyes back up to face Arthur. "That's…because I never said it sir." Heaving a small sigh, he gave in just as Arthur turned back. "Bu-but it's Alfred, Sir. "

Arthur gave a curt nod and stood shortly afterwards. He began to smooth out his jacket and turned to Mathew with a slightly scrunched face, as if annoyed the other was still in his seat. "Well, come on then. Can't keep your brother waiting all day for you to get back to him, now can you?" With that said, he turned and limped from the table, Mathew scrambling to keep up with the alarmingly fast man.

They parted ways once they hit the streets, Arthur having remained true to his words and hailed a cabbie down for Mathew. Now seated in the horse-drawn carriage and away from the crazy of the city streets, Mathew let out a soft sigh and allowed himself the leisure of closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He pressed himself into the cushions reeking of sea salt and blocked out the commotion on the other side of his carriage door. Outside the curtained windows, the world began to blend together as the port-city transformed into the picturesque image of the English countryside. He only stirred when the carriage entered the rough, loose-stone path of his brother's rented drive and brought him closer to the house framed in saplings slender yet tall in their youth.

There was a thin frown on his face as he opened his eyes to see the house grow closer. A hand rose and slipped into his pocket, briefly touching the worn letterhead protected within. His brother had managed to contact him months before he was due back to England, proclaiming that he had secured a home just north of Folkestone. Where Alfred had found the sudden stipend still worried Mathew. It made them New-Money; deemed too snobbish for the common folk in town and yet still too ignorant to rub elbows with the true blue-bloods of Mother England's society. It made his head spin on its axis just trying to think about the politics and society behind it all, and he often wondered how his brother managed to survive at all.

But then Mathew started to laugh laughed. This _was_ Alfred he was talking about after all; that boy could survive anything the world tried to throw at him and walk away laughing, always seeing the world as an adventure, something to conquer. As the carriage jerked to a halt, Mathew caught sight of his brother running down the steps of the large, empty house, taking the stairs three at a time. He looked so painfully of place in the black and white suit mandated by their new social class as it clashed with his crazed blonde hair and personable grin.

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Mathew realized just exactly how long this had been in coming. Constant years at sea, wondering and fearing that he'd come back to England to find his brother on the steps of a workhouse, only to find his brother thriving and demanding Mathew stay with him while on leave. Opening the carriage door, he stepped out with a calm smile.

"Mattie!" Mathew braced himself as Alfred crashed into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He chuckled and returned the hug, duffle dropping to the ground. Alfred all the while chattered at top speed in his ear, refusing to let his brother go.

It was good to be home again.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two:**

 

Arthur climbed down from the carriage, leaning back as he did so to look up at the looming structure before him. His bag was thrown to his feet and the carriage made a quick getaway behind down the twisting drive.

The house behind him screamed of neglect; nei, the entire grounds begged for a hearty dose of care. The state of the ancient house transfixed Arthur to the spot, pinning him there with black, empty windows framed in creepy ivy. The wild rose bushes that flanked the front steps and posts looked as if their last tending to had been when the good Queen Victoria had first taken her throne. Offending vines took over the pale grey stone of the steps, hanging from the bars of the lantern posts like swooning women.

“God above, it’s like a bloody nightmare.”

Sighing, Arthur reached for his bag. He stood with it thrown over his shoulders and began to push himself up the step. The once grand Kirkland estate house loomed in on itself, as if trying to reach out and wrap its arms around the returning sailor.

Arthur paused at the large oak door, staring at them in distain. Once polished wood work flanked in steel-work finery had been beaten and subdued by the elements. He reached out, brushing his fingers over the tarnished lion-head knocked and scowled at the clenching in his chest.

“What have they done to you,” he breathed. Stealing a glance back over his shoulder, Arthur saw the carriage escape the dreary landscape and the iron gate slam shut behind it. “Shit.”

 Turning back to the door, Arthur spared the lion abused, as the ring looked ready to fall free of the metal-work beast’s mouth, and rapped his cane against the wood. “I wonder if it’s too late to hop a ship out of here.” Muttering absentmindedly, Arthur leaned back, wincing as he made the mistake of placing weight on his leg.

Just as he was raising his cane for a second knock, the door slowly swung inwards. Darkness appeared to seep out of the estate house; Arthur felt a shiver race up his spine at the thought.

“Master Kirkland.”

The formal title startled the sailor. Leaning to the side, he smiled slightly at the sight of a young, proper-faced man. The valet bowed lightly before righting himself with a cocked eyebrow at Arthur’s stare. “If I may be so blunt, sir, we weren’t expecting you home so soon.”

“You and I both, Manon. Believe me.” Chuckling weakly, Arthur limped inside. The door closed swiftly behind him, making the man pause as his eyes readjusted to the muted lighting. The checked flooring appeared to him first; filthy and desperate in want for a scrub. The only moderately clean tracks on it were where several paths had been attempted to be maintained, but even they were lacking. Leaning forward, Arthur caught sight of the house’s grand stair case, now overrun in suffocating amounts of dust and cobwebs clinging to its off-white railings. Turning his attention upwards, Arthur frowned at the state of the tarnished chandelier.

“Manon, what _has_ my brother been doing to this place?” He cast a disapproving gaze to the valet. Manon turned this attention to the staircase in reply. “I was only gone for a few months at most and he’s let it gone to hell! My god, man, call the staff. Have some pride in this place; I bet he even let the gardens go wild.”

“Arthur!”

Turning to the stairs, Arthur felt a grin creeping out at the sight of the boy running down the steps. Peter took them three at a time, taking the turns in the steps at such a speed Arthur considered them both lucky the foolish lad did not trip. With a clatter, Arthur dropped his cane and bag and managed to get down to one knee with arms spread wide in time for Peter to slam into him at full force.

“Good god, lad,” Arthur said chuckling. He pulled Peter back by the shoulders to smile down at him and fondly the boy’s wild sandy-blonde hair. “Who said you could grow so big? I was only gone a couple of months! Still fighting the good fight?”

Peter nodded in response, a toothy grin splitting his face in two as he grabbed his brother by the wrist. “You bet! Already on the third once this month!” Suddenly though, the boy’s grin fell and he puffed out a cheek to the side in a huff. “This one won’t leave though! I’ve tried _everything_ Arthur! But now that you’re home, he can leave, right? Because I’m _way_ too old for a nanny; I’m almost seven now, and that’s practically an adult! Plus you’ll teach me all I need to know, right? Right?”

Footsteps on the stairs caught Arthur’s attention, bringing his eyes to the top of the stairwell despite Peter’s groans. There he found a young man, possibly no older than himself, staring at the two brothers in the foyer with wide eyes. The man’s violet eyes locked suddenly onto Peter with an exasperated air about him, and the boy shrunk against Arthur.

“Peter! You can’t keep running off like that!” He rushed down the remaining stairs to smile apologetically at Arthur. He was either invincible or ignorant to the pouty glare Peter was directing at him. “I’m so sorry. We were in the middle of lessons when he heard the knocking and simply took off running.” Extending a hand, the man’s expression suddenly lightened. “Tino Väinämöinen, sir. You must be Arthur; Peter talks about you all the time.”

“I do not,” Peter whined softly.

With a firm grip on his cane, Arthur pushed himself up to quickly shake Tino’s hand. “Ah, I’m afraid you’re right.” Resting his hand on Peter’s head, Arthur spared the boy a quick look. The child was clinging to his older brother’s pants, suddenly stricken shy. “How on earth were you roped into this circus-act family of ours?”

Tino only shrugged. “When Peter’s last nurse left in a fit, Eduard recommended me to his Lordship. The two of us grew up together in a way, and he insisted I at least give it a try.”

 Arthur nodded vaguely at the mentioning of the family accountant. However, as the words sank in, an eyebrow rose and he stared, slightly smirking, at Tino. “ _Lordship_? Is that what my brother’s been going by now?” With a fluid roll of his venomous eyes, Arthur’s hand abandoned Peter’s head to seek his satchel on the tiles. “Takes the title but lets the estate go to ruin. What _has_ Allistor been doing these past months?”

“Mostly sitting in Father’s study,” Peter piped up. The boy bounced on his feet, desperately trying to take Arthur’s hand back and drag him up the stairs. “He doesn’t even come out anymore. Not even for Christmas! He just sits up there all day long. …I think he’s broken.” Blue eyes watered lightly as Peter looked up at his brother, frowning suddenly. “You’ll fix him though, right Arthur? You’re really good at that.”

Smiling gently, Arthur nodded. “Of course; I’ll knock some sense into that git he’ll never forget. How _dare_ he miss Christmas.” He allowed Peter to latch onto his hand and lead him up the stairs, barely aware of Tino trailing on their heels. At the top of the landing, he turned to the boy and handed his bag to him. “Now be a good lad and bring that to my room for me while I go find our dearest brother.”

Grinning ear to ear, Peter shot off down the hall, bag clutched to his chest.

“He really is such a sweet boy.” Tino had fallen into place beside Arthur quickly. He glanced at the other and smiled warmly. “It’s such a shame. I’m convinced he only acts like this to get his siblings to notice him. He’s really quite the lamb when he wants to be. I think he gets the biggest thrill out of riling up Lord Kirkland, what with the way he boast about how he practically ran his last nurse out. He was so upset when I stuck through the first week.” Chuckling at the memory, Tino shook his head. “Just needs someone to pay him a little attention. Ah, but listen to me rambling! Terrible habit, I’m afraid. Although…now that you’re home, I suppose he’s going to be trying to keep you all to himself.”

Arthur turned away from Tino with a soft hmm in response. “He’ll be disappointed when I have to go back to sea.”

“Now you wait just one second! You can barely walk straight without that cane of yours. Don’t make it sound as if you’re only staying the night!” Arthur’s eyes shot wide open and he turned to regard the other, frozen to the spot. His cheeks streaked red as he fought to come up with some proper biting remark, but in the mean time, Tino rolled his eyes away with a short laugh.

“Oh knock it off. Your face is going to freeze that way if you keep scowling. Though…it must have been quiet the scuffle to have you sent home so early, Commander. Maybe you’ll grace me with the story some day. Ah, but, here we are.”

Tino stopped suddenly, his attention turned to the wall. Arthur followed suit, finding himself looking at an dark oak door that broke apart the dusty, floral-print wallpaper. Turning to Arthur, Tino nodded to him and turned to walk away.

“I’ll see to it that Peter doesn’t ransack your belongings _too_ badly. I would hate to see him ruin a surprise.”

Watching him leave, Arthur frowned. Once again he felt the feeling of the old house leaning in on him. Quick to dispel it, he reached for the tarnished brass and crystal knob, only to have it pulled out from under his fingertips.

“-kick your teeth in if I catch you even _thinking_ about that again! If Arthur only knew what you were plo- A-Arthur?!”

Face-full of bow-tie, Arthur readjusted his gaze to look up at wide emerald-green eyes staring down at him. In the room beyond, a chair crashed to the floor and curse filtered through the air. Quite suddenly, Arthur smirked and leaned on his cane with a chuckle. “Oh close your mouth, Dylan; you’ll swallow a fly. Now what is this all about, oh dearest brothers of mine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two~ I'm not sure I mentioned a disclaimer in the first chapter, so... I don't own any Hetalia characters, just to get that stuff outta the way. Also, since a great deal of names I use may not be "canonized," I'll introduce new characters and their names at the end of chapters they first appear in. Till the next chapter!
> 
> Names:  
> Manon: M!Belgium  
> Allistor: Scotland  
> Dylan: Wales

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, everyone! Thank you so much for reading the first chapter; I hope I don't disappoint later on! Just a quick summary of my note use. This area will usually hold tid-bits of historical knowledge I feel is important to understanding the chapters as well as bad translations (I struggle with Google translate, please forgive me!), and sometimes little messages like these. Thank you again for reading the chapter! Till the next time duckies!  
> \- Midnightmuse
> 
>  
> 
> *Historical Tid-bit of the Week*
> 
> \- No, "My Jolly Sailor Bold" isn't from Pirates of the Caribbean. Well...it is...but it actually began as an old shanty from around 1780's - 1790's. When I was doing research into the song, I found an interesting blog post about the topic. He made the connection of the shanty to the Irish ballad "The Banks of Claudy", which shares very similar lyrics with "My Jolly Sailor Bold". It's not uncommon for songs to be recycled like this with just a few words changed, but I thought it was an interesting thing to include in this week's history snippet. =]


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